


Purple Haze

by esorave



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Puns, Breakfast, Cuddling & Snuggling, Guilt, M/M, Mates, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Panic Attacks, Pixies, Rebuilt Hale House, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esorave/pseuds/esorave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When practice-fighting in the woods, it is very important not to disturb stone circles where Pixies may dwell because Pixies are pranksters and Derek and Stiles are now under their spell.</p><p>Or</p><p>The one where Derek and Stiles keep forgetting who they are and can't keep their hands off each other, and then every time they remember who they are, they forget what their amnesiac selves were doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A knock sounds at the front door. Isaac and Stiles are play-fighting on the couch and Scott is attempting to make dinner in the kitchen. Derek realizes that it’s going to be a weird night as he puts his book down on the coffee table and gets up to answer the door.

Lydia is twenty minutes late, but before Derek reaches the front hallway, he knows something is very, very off. 

There’s no heartbeat on the other side of the door. 

He grabs the brass handle and yanks it open, using all of his senses to scan the woods surrounding his house. Even though they rebuilt it last year, the smell of smoke dominates the landscape. He pushes past it.

He sees nothing. He hears nothing. The scents of Stiles, Isaac, Scott, and tomato sauce permeate the air, but nothing foreign. 

Then who the hell knocked on the door?

Derek looks down. Resting in front of his feet is a small brown parcel. He picks it up.

“Oh, shit.”

That’s all Derek has time to say before the package explodes in a *poof*, sending out a cloud of purple dust. 

Derek is falling, then everything goes black.

 

\--------------

 

“Dude, what the fuck?” says Stiles. He’s currently being crushed under the weight of a very heavy male body. He tries sitting up to somehow roll the big guy off him, but the body will not budge.

He’s struggling to breathe. 

“Wake up, guy. You and your muscles need to get off me, like, now!”

“Mmmrmsh,” comes the reply.

Stiles’ hands are trapped between their stomachs, so pinching him awake is out of the question. He opts for the next best thing and bites at the exposed neck two inches from his face. 

The guy awakes with a start, sits up straight, then pins Stiles down by his shoulders. Hard. Oww!

Stiles is still being straddled by the mound of muscle, but at least he can breathe.

“What the hell?” says the guy. 

Stiles studies him for a bit. He’s got shaggy light brown curls and blue-grey eyes. He’s actually kind of pretty. 

Huh... am I gay? he thinks. Wait, wouldn’t I know if I was gay? Shit.

“Who am I?” “Who are you?” 

They ask their questions at the same time.

“Wait, who are you?” says Stiles.

“Who am I?” says the muscle man. 

Wow, don’t they sound like they have IQs of 70.

“You’re the one straddling me,” says Stiles. “I think I should be the one asking the questions.”

“You’re not in a position to ask questions,” says Muscles.

Wow. Rude.

Without warning, Muscles lets go of Stiles’ shoulders and starts going through his pant pockets. Woah. That is way too close for comfort.

“Do you mind, Muscles?” says Stiles, but Muscles just ignores him and his fetal attempts to protect his junk. The rough hands move around to Stiles’ ass and he’s about to put up another protestation when Muscles pulls a wallet out of his back pocket.

The guy begins to laugh. It’s a low, rumbling sound and Stiles finds himself relaxing despite the 180 pounds of heavy body straddling him. 

“What kind of a name is Stiles?”

“What kind of style?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Stiles Stilinski,” says Muscles, flashing the drivers license at Stiles. “That’s you, Stiles.”

Stiles makes a face, but he kind of likes the way it sounds. “Stiles,” he says testing the feel of the name on his tongue. “Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?” says Muscles. “God, I hope my name doesn’t suck as much as yours.”

“Hey!” says Stiles, taking offense. 

Stiles takes a closer look at the license. He’s got dark brown hair, amber eyes, and pale skin. Not bad me, he thinks, smirking to himself.

“Isaac.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m Isaac Lahey,” he says, a relieved smile spreading over his face. It makes him look younger. How old are they exactly?

Stiles looks at his license. Born in 1996 apparently. That would make him... well, what year is it?

Isaac’s smile fades and he makes a face like he’s smelling something bad.

“What is it?” asks Stiles.

Isaac stares at him wide-eyed. “Don’t tell me you can’t smell that.”

Stiles inhales deeply, but all he can smell is Isaac and a very faint hint of...

“Tomatoes?”

“Burning tomatoes,” corrects Isaac as he hops up--finally--and heads into the kitchen.

Stiles takes his newfound freedom and stands with it. He’s in the living room of what seems like a very nice and very large house. Isaac’s disappeared, so he decides to explore.

In the opposite direction of the kitchen, he notices that the front door is open and goes to investigate. A fine purple dust coats the hall and the bottom of a set of stairs, and there is a very suspicious purple-less blotch at the center of the mess. 

Stiles looks to the front porch and notices a purple covered lump on the welcome mat. Well, at least he thinks it’s a welcome mat.

Stiles steps outside, bending down for a closer look, and is promptly forced back against the front of the house by the strong hands of a very attractive man. His heart beat picks up in his chest and he thinks I hope he doesn’t notice. But that’s silly. How would this dark-haired, 5 o’clock shadowed, green-eyed god know how fast his heart was beating?

After an awkward moment of staring at each other, Stiles breaks the silence.

“Um, hi. I’m Stiles. At least I think I’m Stiles. Maybe Isaac showed me a fake driver’s license, although I don’t know why he would bother or how he would get a fake driver’s license in the first place. Unless that was someone else’s driver’s license and I’m not a cute teenager with scruffy brown hair and moles, and ohmygod I’m rambling. But, you know, given the situation, I think some rambling is in order. I mean...”

Stiles has to swallow for a second, mesmerized by the gorgeous green eyes staring intently into his. 

He slows down, sort of.

“I mean, with the amnesia situation and what not, which, great, I mean, I don’t remember anything and neither does Isaac, and who are you? If you know know, I mean, which you might not. Do you? Know, that is.”

Stiles stops talking, waiting for a response. The strong hands ease off a bit, but are still wrapped up in the fabric of his t-shirt. He can feel the heat of the green-eyed man seeping into his skin. Stiles licks his lips, pulling in the bottom one to bite on it and keep himself from commenting something very inappropriate for the moment.

Intense green eyes follow the motion of his mouth, and woah, doesn’t that send a surge of heat to Stiles groin. 

The stranger’s green eyes flash red for a second before the leather-clad man backs off, giving Stiles a suddenly unwanted amount of space. 

A crash draws both of their attentions before he can comment and Stiles follows green-eyes (red-eyes? why wasn’t he feeling surprised or shocked or something) into the kitchen to the sight of two werewolves, fangs and claws out, about to attack and eat one another. Or break out into song and dance. Who was he to judge?

Anyway...werewolves. 

Yeah, he should be shocked, but Stiles just feels like this is normal. He is way too comfortable right now. And... annoyed? It’s like his body remembers this but his mind is just blanking. It’s an unsettling body/mind disconnect, but since his cerebral region is currently nonfunctional, he’s decided to trust the rest of his body on this one.

An ear-shattering growl rips out of green-eyes throat, and Stiles grabs his head. The werewolves cower against the kitchen counter, reverting to human form, and he notices right away that one of them is Isaac. The other has a lopsided jaw and warm brown eyes. Are there more or is this all of them?

“Is this all of us?” asks Stiles.

Green-eyes turns around, closes his eyes for a moment, opens them, and nods. 

“So,” says Stiles, wringing his hands and bouncing slightly. “Anyone remember anything?”

“Werewolves are real,” says the brown eyed boy. “And I’m Scott.”

“You remember your name?” asks Stiles, voice going high.

Isaac gets up and shakes his head, tossing a wallet on Scott, who grabs it and stands. As an unspoken rule, they all move into the living room. Stiles and Isaac plop down on the couch, Scott takes a chair, and green-eyes leans against the wall in by the tv, arms and legs crossed.

Stiles catches green-eyes attention. “Who are you, handsome?”

That seems to make green-eyes’ cheeks flush slightly, and Stiles is all of a sudden very proud of himself. 

“Derek.”

Nothing more, just ‘Derek’. “Not a man of many words I see.”

Derek glares at him and Stiles beams. Isaac snorts.

“Do you two want to stop flirting so we can figure out what’s going on here?” says Isaac, scooting closer to Stiles and throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “Besides, he woke up being straddled by me, not you, so I think it’s fair to say he’s taken.”

“Hey!” says Stiles. “I refuse to be taken by anyone right now, okay? Let’s figure out what the hell is going on first. What’s more, if that counts as flirting in your book, you clearly haven’t been around much.”

Isaac gives him an oh really? look that Stiles chooses to ignore. 

“I’m Isaac, and this” he points a thumb to Stiles’ end of the couch “is Stiles.” 

It’s Derek’s turn to snort, and Stiles glares at him, daring him to say something.

“So, where are we?” offers Scott.

“It smells like home,” says Derek.

“Me too,” says Isaac.

Scott sniffs. “It doesn’t smell exactly like home, to me at least. But it’s familiar.”

Stiles pouts, “Well I don’t smell anything.”

“You’re human,” says Derek.

Stiles flails his limbs, “What the hell am I doing hanging out with you guys then?”

The question is asked of everyone, but he directs it at Derek, who seems to be purposefully looking any where but at Stiles.

Stiles stands up and starts to pace between Derek and the couch. “Okay, so, someone blew up a purple package on our own front porch, making us all mental cases, then what, just left?”

The werewolves are staring at him, like he has the answer despite having asked the question.

Stiles butt begins to vibrate. “Phones!” says Stiles, excited. “Everyone, take out your phones and maybe we’ll find something.”

Stiles swipes right to accept the call from, if he can trust his phone, a beautiful girl named Lydia with strawberry blonde hair.

“Hello?” 

“Hey Stiles! So sorry I’m running late, but I got a flat tire and had to change it.”

“Oh, that’s okay, um, Lydia.”

“Are you alright Stiles? You sound weird. What happened?”

Stiles looks at Derek for, what, approval? Derek’s jaw clenches, but he nods.

“Um, actually, there was a weird powder explosion thing.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“We’re fine, we’re fine. We just, uh, can’t remember anything.”

“Who’s we?”

“Scott, Isaac, Derek, and me.”

“Well, shit.”

The other side of the line goes silent for a bit.

“Lydia?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Um, I’m literally one minute away. I’m going to ask Deaton. He’ll know what to do.”

“Who’s Deaton?”

“He’s a druid and our pack’s emissary.”

Silence again.

“And Stiles?”

“Um, yeah Lydia?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

She sounds so sure, he wants to believe her. Who is she?

“Oh, and Stiles?”

“Yups.”

“Tell Derek not to kill anyone until I get there.”

She ends the call and Stiles turns to the others. “So, that was Lydia, and--”

“We heard Stiles,” says Scott. 

“Okay, good, then you know she’s--”

“Here,” says Derek. 

“Already?” asks Stiles, baffled. He makes it to the front door first, being careful to step over the purple mess, and sure enough, a little silver car pulls up with Lydia inside.

She parks the car about twenty feet from the front steps and gets out, tentatively. After shutting the driver’s side door, she leans against it. 

“Purple or gold?” she asks.

Stiles stops coming for her. “What?”

“The powder in the explosion. I’m assuming that’s what caused this, yes?”

“Um, yes?” says Stiles.

“What color was it?”

How did she know?

“Purple,” says Derek.

Lydia lets out a visible sigh, her shoulders relaxing and tension leaving her body as she walks towards Stiles. Derek is in her path in a second, growling.

She puts both her hands up and steps back, but keeps eye contact with Stiles. 

“Purple is good,” she says. “Purple means it will wear off in about a day. Deaton told me gold is the one you have to watch out for.”

“When did you talk to Deaton?” asks Stiles.

“I texted him while you were on the line,” explains Lydia.

“While you were driving?” asks Stiles.

Lydia looks pointedly behind her. “It’s not exactly the busiest street.”

“Why should we believe a word you say witch?” spits out Derek.

“Seriously?” says Lydia, one hand resting on her cocked hip. “You better watch what you call me, or you may regret something when you remember who you are.”

Derek growls at her, but it sounds more like an annoyed noise than an angry noise. Lydia doesn’t seem phased.

“And I’m a banshee, by the way, and a part of your pack, so relax.”

All her confidence back, she breezes past Derek and grabs Stile’s hand, pulling him inside.

“I’ll clean this up,” she says, gesturing to the purple as she steps over it and ascends the stairs. “I’m immune to these kinds of things.” Without turning around she says, “You’re all following us upstairs, yes?”

Stiles looks, and sure enough, all three werewolves are following them upstairs. Ohmygod, this is like something out of a porno.

“So, are you leading us to a bedroom?” Stiles smirks.

Lydia cocks a half smile. “Get that thought out of your head Stilinski. I’m putting you all upstairs so you don’t keep inhaling that shit as I clean it up. You’re lucky, you know. As far as Pixie pranks go, that one was tame.”

Stiles stops walking in the upstairs hallway.

“Are you trying to tell me that my amnesia is due to some fucking pixie playing a prank?”

Lydia turns around to stare at him wide-eyed.

“What?” says Stiles, a little too harshly. Lydia flinches.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it. 

“I don’t know,” she says at last. “That’s just...Usually when you... You know what? Nevermind. I just suddenly can’t wait for you to sleep this one off Stiles.”

She opens the door to a giant bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall and gestures for him to go in.

He hesitates.

Lydia lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes.

“You guys all need to shower. Wash that stuff off you.” Isaac and Scott rush in past him, both calling dibs on the bathroom. Stiles can feel Derek move closer to his back. A heat rolls off him, making Stiles hyper-aware of his presence but oddly relaxed at the same time. 

“You too,” says Lydia, looking at Derek. “It looks like you got the worst of it.”

Really? Stiles turns around to look at Derek. How had he not noticed the purple in his hair and on his clothes before?

“How do I know you haven’t put wolfsbane in the water supply?” 

Trust issues much? thinks Stiles.

But Lydia just smirks. “You don’t,” she says, and with a flip of her hair she practically bounces down the stairs.

That is one weird woman, but Stiles likes her.

“I like her,” he says to Derek. Then he waves his hand at the bedroom. “Shall we?” Stiles cocks what he thinks is an endearing smile. 

Derek snorts.

“Ladies first,” he says.

Stiles mocks hurt, hand over his heart. “Well I never.”

That gets the smallest of smiles out of Derek, but Stiles considers it a win and walks into the bedroom. 

\------------

When Derek enters the bedroom, the first thing he notices is how empty it feels, like no one lives here. It brings an inexplicable sadness to him, but he pushes the feeling down. Scott and Isaac are already in the bathroom. Together. With the shower running. 

He sighs.

“Stiles, wait.” He starts to reach out for the young man, but stops himself. Slamming Stiles into a wall was one thing, but gently pulling him by the arm is another. He drops his hand as Stiles turns. 

He’s looking expectantly at him. His amber eyes are soft and warm, and he has the kind of hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it. Yeah, he needs to stop thinking like this. He doesn’t even know Stiles. 

Except, he does. How well do we know each other? He can’t help but wonder.

Stiles flails. “What?”

Right, um... “They might be in there a while, let’s find a different shower.”

Derek walks out of the room. He can feel Stiles following him.

As if on autopilot, he enters the first door on the right.

Immediately, his own scent overwhelms him. This is his bedroom. It looks more lived-in than the other. It’s neat, but there are a couple of books left on a side table and the bed looks hastily made. It’s a bit smaller too. Why would he purposefully pick a smaller bedroom?

He walks into the bathroom and stops the moment he sees his reflection. It is so strange. It’s like it is his face, but isn’t. He sees Stiles’ face appear behind him and the same expression passes over his features. 

“Wow, that’s weird,” says Stiles.

Derek just nods and steps out of the way. “You shower first.”

“Really?” says Stiles, stepping into the bathroom excitedly. The boy turns and winks at Derek before closing the door. Winks. 

“No peeking!”

Derek shakes his head and decides to wait in the hallway. He doesn’t want to get this purple shit all over his bedroom. 

About five minutes later, he hears the water turn off.

Derek walks in the bedroom just as Stiles is coming out of the shower, a white towel hugging his hip. He’s using a smaller one to dry his hair. Water clings to his mole-dotted body, streaming down lean muscle and towards--- 

Derek mentally shakes himself and looks up. Stiles has stopped drying is hair and is staring at him with a definite heat in is eyes. Their gazes lock, amber to green, and the wave of arousal that hits Derek is like a fist to the gut. It takes much of his will to walk past the half-naked temptation and into the bathroom. 

He closes the door a little too harshly and winces at the sound. Quickly, he strips, putting his clothes in the same pile formed by Stiles, and hops in the shower. 

\------------

It takes a moment for Stiles to remember how to breathe. 

Holy hell. 

The way Derek was staring at him just then... Stiles palms his semi-hard-on through his towel. Yeah, no. He cannot start touching himself now. Not with Derek ten feet away taking a shower.

Naked.

Nope, nope. He is totally not thinking of a naked green-eyes, soaping up his muscular body, maybe even getting himself off in the shower. Nor is he wondering how that stubble would feel on his cheek, his neck, his chest. How that mouth would feel on his--

Stiles forces his eyes open, taking in his surroundings. Wrinkly bed, books strewn around, a dresser. This is definitely someone’s bedroom. 

Stiles walks over to the dresser. He hadn’t really had much purple on his clothes, but they are currently shut up in a room with a very naked werewolf and he really needs to put something on. 

He decides that it’s weird to wear someone else’s underwear, so he settles for a pair of black sweats and a blue t-shirt. They are a bit big, but the right length, so he isn’t complaining. 

The shower’s still going. He decides to snoop around a bit. The books look interesting, but normal. Stiles sits on the bed. It’s firm, yet soft. He bounces on it, testing it out. It doesn’t squeak. He smiles as a thought passes through his head. Stiles turns on the lamp on the bedside table and opens up the bedside drawer. He gasps. Holy hell, whose room is this? 

There’s a bottle of lube, XL condoms, and a dildo. 

The bathroom door opens and Stiles slams the drawer shut.

“What’s wrong?” asks Derek. He has his own towel wrapped around his hip, and his body is all sculpted muscle and tan skin. 

Stiles swallows, forcing himself to look at Derek’s face, not like that helps his situation. His hair is wet and Stiles really wants to run his hand through it, shake out the water, then pull it hard, yanking Derek’s head back to lick the skin at his throat.

“Whose room is this?” he squeaks. Then mentally smacks himself because how would an amnesiac know?

Derek gives him a quizzical look before answering tentatively. “Mine.”

Stiles jaw drops, he’s sure of it. If this is Derek’s room, then that is Derek’s lube, Derek’s XL condoms, and Derek’s dildo. 

Despite all the questions buzzing through his head, Stiles says, “I borrowed your clothes then.”

“I can smell that,” says Derek. A weird look ghosts over his face, but it’s gone before Stiles can recognize what it is.

“Is that okay?” asks Stiles, unsure.

“What would you do if I said it wasn’t?” Derek raises one eyebrow and it makes Stiles’ heart skip a beat. “Strip?”

Now that has Stiles’ heart working overtime, and he’s sure Derek can hear it. A flush creeps over Stiles’ skin.

Derek goes to the dresser and pulls out a pair of grey sweats and a black t-shirt. Then he lets the towel drop.

Stiles meant to look away. He really did. But the second his eyes latch onto Derek’s ass, he’s transfixed. Like a soldier trying to fight Medusa, he’s solid stone the second he looks. Derek’s muscles flex and contract as he pulls on the sweats, slowly, shaking his ass into them before letting the elastic go with a final snap. 

Oh, hell no. Stiles can tell he’s being teased, and he’s not going to stand for it. In a surprisingly fluid motion, Stiles gets up from the bed and stalks over to Derek, tapping into some unknown well of confidence. He snakes his hands from the solid wall of Derek’s back to his front, pressing them flat against the plane of his stomach and just barely peaking his fingertips in to the waistband of Derek’s sweats.

Derek reaches behind him and grabs Stiles’ ass, pulling them flush against one another, back to front.

Both of them are breathing deeply. Stiles suddenly regrets the thin layer of fabric between them that is his t-shirt, but he feels like pulling away to remove it would break the spell. Instead, he presses light, lazy kisses to Derek’s shoulder, his nose nuzzling Derek’s neck. They’re practically the same height, giving Stiles the perfect vantage point. 

He nips gently at the tendon on Derek’s neck, and Stiles can feel Derek’s chest rumble as he lets out a low growl. His head lolls back on Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles pulls him impossibly closer with one hand still on his lower stomach while the other snakes up to Derek’s pecs. They’re firm and feel great when he sinks his nails into them. 

One of Derek’s hands is kneading Stiles’ ass while the other grabs a handful of hair at the base of Stiles’ head. Derek angles his face and pulls Stiles in for a kiss. He sucks on his bottom lip before his tongue darts out once, twice, coaxing Stiles’ open so he can delve inside, invading him sweetly and possessively.

Stiles groans into Derek’s mouth. Their tongues meet in a battle of wills and it quickly becomes a heated kiss. Derek seems to melt in his arms, turning himself around to meet Stiles chest to chest. 

That’s when Stiles finds his hands on Derek’s beautiful ass. 

Yes, please.

Stiles grabs his ass with both hands and surges against him, making very noticeable the hardness of his cock. Derek responds, rocking against him and meeting him thrust for thrust. Stiles can feel Derek’s hardness pushing against the crook of his hip. There’s so much friction. His breathing is hot and heavy, and their kiss is becoming a mess of frenzied passion.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek gasps, losing his rhythm. 

“Stiles!” sings Lydia.

Derek pulls back, wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Derek! Scott! Isaac!” 

Well, shit. Stiles is going to have to remind himself to pointedly not thank her later. Derek’s face is flushed and his lips are red and swollen. Stiles smiles to think, I did that.

Derek returns his smile tentatively before putting on his black shirt, splashing water on his face, and heading downstairs. 

Yeah, Stiles is going to need more time than that to compose himself. Werewolves and their sense of smell. Fuck. 

\-----------

Derek cannot leave the room fast enough. 

He whips down the stairs and almost plows into Lydia when he enters the living room.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

She gives him a look, eyebrows raised, arms crossed. She’s even slightly tapping her toe. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face.

“Did I just get an apology from Derek Hale?” 

Would he normally not apologize for almost knocking someone down?

He suddenly feels uncomfortable and doesn’t know how to act.

“Uh” is all he manages before Isaac and Scott barrel down the stairs. They’re both wearing clothes that smell like Isaac and they smell like body wash and sex.

Stiles comes down last, leisurely strolling and twirling a set of keys in his hand. Derek tries not to look at him as he moves closer. 

“Lydia?” asks Stiles, a half smile on his face. “Please tell me that these keys go to that black Camaro out front.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. You have the blue jeep.” 

Stiles pouts.

“Don’t pout Stiles,” says Lydia, running a hand down his forearm. “She’s your baby.”

Derek feels a bout of jealousy threatening to surface, but he stomps it down.

Stiles is staring wide-eyed at her hand on him. He looks to Derek and back to Lydia. “Are you,” he starts. “Are we, um.” He’s motioning between them and she starts to laugh.

“Are we dating, Stiles?” asks Lydia.

Stiles just nods.

“No.”

“Oh,” says Stiles. “Good.”

That has Lydia raising an eyebrow. “Good?”

Stiles looks so trapped, Derek almost feels bad for him. Almost.

\-----------

“No,” says Lydia.

“Oh.” Whew. That would have been bad. “Good.”

“Good?” asks Lydia, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Um,” says Stiles, tentatively. “...Not good?” He suddenly gets the feeling that he is going to regret this conversation when he remembers who he is.

Lydia’s still staring at him like he’s got two heads.

“Am I, um, dating anyone then?” asks Stiles maybe a bit too hopefully. It takes all his willpower not to glance over at Derek to gage his reaction.

Lydia gives him a pitiful look. Great.

“Stiles,” she says too sweetly, “you couldn’t get a date to save your life.”

Scott and Isaac start snickering behind him. Lydia ignores them but Stiles face starts to burn. 

“I mean literally,” she continues, obviously smirking at a joke he doesn’t have the memory to get. Please, stop, Stiles prays, but he doesn’t think she will. 

“Can we focus?”

It’s Derek who breaks the awkward moment. 

Thank you, he tries to tell Derek with his eyes. He gets a small smile in return. Lydia doesn’t seem to notice the exchange.

“Look,” says Lydia, turning to Derek. “All you have to do is sleep it off. Derek, this is your house, so you can stay here. Isaac lives here, too. I’m going to take Scott and Stiles home so they can wake up in their own beds tomorrow.”

“No.”

Derek clearly doesn’t like the idea. He looks at Stiles, who doesn’t like it either. Then he looks at Scott and Isaac and they all nod.

“We don’t separate,” finishes Derek.

Lydia looks like she wants to argue. Then she takes a breath and her face softens. “Of course,” she says. “I’m staying though. I’ll take one of the open rooms. Derek and Isaac can take their own rooms, which I assume you can find easily enough if you haven’t already. Stiles,” she says turning to him, “you and Scott can take some of the spare rooms too. We’re 99% done with the house, but if you find a bed with no sheets or something, just let me know and I’ll get you what you need.” She pauses to look at Derek. “Deal?”

Derek nods.

“Perfect,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Pizza?”

\-----------

Lydia had ordered them three pizzas and they’d finished them all. Then they’d just sat around and watched low-budget action flicks all night. Currently, Stiles is curled up in a plain white comforter on a mattress with no sheets, using a throw pillow from the couch to rest his head on. It’s a comfortable set-up, but the room is bare and empty in a way that makes him uneasy. He tosses and turns for over an hour before deciding Screw it and throwing off the covers. 

It takes him a moment to orient himself in the dark hallway, but once he does he finds a familiar door and slips inside.

“Derek?” he asks into the dark, hovering by the closed bedroom door, his hand still on the knob. What if he’s sleeping? Stiles doesn’t really know what to do. This was a stupid idea.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hand stops turning the knob to leave. “Hey, Derek. Ah... Sorry to bother you, I just... I couldn’t really get to sleep.”

\-----------

Derek stares at Stiles by the door and pulls back the covers. Stiles doesn’t move though, and it takes Derek a second to realize Stiles’ human eyes probably can’t see him.

“Come to bed Stiles,” he asks sleepily. He hadn’t really fallen asleep, but he was just in that twilight-almost-sleep phase when he’d heard the door open. It had been difficult trying to relax when he could hear Stiles moving around two rooms down. 

Now that Stiles is here, he feels more relaxed. He doesn’t really care about being too familiar anymore. Stiles smells like pack and a little bit like him too. He lets himself grin widely, knowing Stiles can’t see the expression.

Stiles only hesitates a moment before slipping in where Derek had pulled back the covers. His bed is a queen and plenty big enough for the both of them to sleep separately on it, but as soon as the heat from Stiles’ body radiates towards him, his wolf practically purrs. Derek remembers Lydia saying that Stiles wasn’t seeing anyone, but maybe they just hadn’t told her? Because his wolf definitely recognizes Stiles as someone safe and pack and close. Mine.

Stiles wiggles himself under the covers more. Derek reaches out for him on instinct, sliding his hand along the young man’s stomach to grab his hip and pull him against his chest. Stiles allows himself to be dragged into the little spoon position, even wiggles back to settle his ass into Derek’s crotch. Derek’s arm tightens across Stiles’ waist and he nuzzles Stiles’ ear, breathing softly onto it: “Sleep.”

They do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking up without the memories of the night they had no memories, Stiles loses his shit a bit so they recruit Lydia's magical tea-making skills to help themselves remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: There is a panic attack written in the breakfast scene.

The first thing Stiles notices when he wakes up is that he feels good. He doesn’t remember having any nightmares, and he feels relaxed. Happy even. Gosh, he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages. 

The second thing Stiles notices is that he is very warm. He’s lying on his back and there’s a heavy but not uncomfortable body pressed up against his side, an arm strewn across his chest, and a leg tucked over and between his own. His thinks of Malia because she was the last person to sleep with him through the night like this, but he hasn’t seen her in almost a year since she went to live with her mother, the desert wolf. Besides, they may have ended things amicably, but they had ended them none-the-less. Stiles hasn’t been with anyone since then. Well, he’s had sex, but nothing that ended in cuddles and certainly not in sleepovers. One night stands weren’t exactly the most trustworthy people.

Oh shit, has he stayed over someone’s place? Scott will be so worried if he didn’t come back to their dorm. Stiles forces himself to open his eyes, despite his body’s protestations. He’s staring up at a ceiling that’s definitely not his own. Stiles doesn’t bother looking at the person - likely male based on the muscle weight - who is sleeping next to him. Instead, he shimmies sideways out from under the tangle of limbs, grabbing the edge of the bed to pull himself--oomph.

Stiles is quickly drawn back in the little spoon position against a hard body that is most definitely male if the thing poking into his lower back is anything to go by. The other guy starts breathing in his hair, nuzzling his ear. Stiles can feel stubble scrape deliciously against his neck before the guy freezes, body going stiff behind him.

“Stiles?”

Holy shit. Stiles knows that voice. He darts out of the bed like a bat out of hell before turning around to look at a sleepy-eyed, ruffled Derek Hale.

“Derek,” he squeaks. What the hell is he doing in Derek’s room? “Ah...I’m not sure how I got here.”

Derek takes a second before responding. “Neither am I.”

They both stare at each other awkwardly for a moment before Stiles decides to just leave. He can’t think as he moves down the hallway, trying to orient himself. What do I remember?

He’s at the Hale house. Well, Derek and Isaac’s house to be precise. Beacon Hills Community College just started their summer break and he was supposed to join Scott here for dinner tonight. Lydia was supposed to be here too, but he doesn’t remember seeing her. Why was Scott cooking dinner? Scott never cooked for them at their dorm. But, then again, they didn’t have a kitchen, so...

Right. Werewolf bonding time. Fighting in the woods. Pixies! That was it. The last thing he remembers was Isaac reenacting the story of how he was supposedly kicking Derek’s ass in the woods when they knocked over part of a stone circle and pixies flew out. Apparently, pixies don’t like their stone circles being disrupted, and as payback they’d decided to direct their mischievous antics at his pack. 

Of course, because this is his life. 

None of the wolves had told him what it was exactly that the pixies had done, but he was starting to get the idea that it was related to the memory loss and really hoping that it was also related to this morning’s...sleeping arrangements. 

As he walks down the stairs, he can smell bacon. His mouth waters and he follows the delicious scent to the kitchen where Lydia is cooking enough breakfast to feed a pack of wolves. (Well, duh.) There’s bacon, eggs, sausages, and pancake mix next to a fired-up electric griddle. She is already dressed, her hair is in a messy bun, and she doesn’t have any make-up on. Beautiful, as always.

“Hey Lyds,” he says, sitting on one of the stools on the raised side of the kitchen island and not bothering to ask why she was at Derek’s house at 7am in the morning. They were pack. They practically lived at each other’s places and he hadn’t seen her in months. “So...do you remember last night?”

She gives him a studying look. “I remember last night. What do you remember?”

He steals a piece of bacon that’s finished cooking. “Well, Scott was making supper, and then Derek went up to get the door for you. That’s all I’ve got.”

Her lips twitch as she glares at him. “What day is it Stiles?”

“Should be Tuesday.”

“Correct. And where do you go to school?”

“Beacon Hills Community College. I plan to double major in psych and criminology. Scott is my roommate. You go to Stanford and study math. Barack Obama is the president. And werewolves are real. We good on the memory check?”

“Good,” says Lydia. “Except you don’t remember last night?”

“Nope. I was on the couch with Isaac and then I was waking up.” ...in bed with Derek. He and Derek may be close, but they weren’t that close.

Stiles starts to fiddle with his shirt sleeve. He honestly doesn’t know why he hadn’t realized it right away. “Shit,” he says, “Lyds, why I am wearing Derek’s clothes?”

She smiles at him and pours pancake mix onto the griddle. “Don’t worry, I washed all of our clothes last night. They’re in the laundry room. There was an...incident. I’m not certain about the whole story because that’s what I was coming here to find out. But as much as I gather, Scott, Derek, and Isaac managed to piss off some pixies. When Derek got the door, it wasn’t me. They had put a special purple blend of magical herbs in a box and blew it up in Derek’s face. Since the door was open, you all inhaled it and it made you forget who you were.”

She pauses to flip the pancake.

“Now that you’ve slept, the effects have worked their way out of you system. I’m still not sure why you don’t remember what happened last night, though. We’ll have to talk to Deaton.”

“Do you think the pixies are done? Like, is this it?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not sure, but given our luck, I’d say not likely.”

Lydia puts the pancake on a plate and scoops him some eggs. He goes to get the syrup from the fridge. It’s still weird being in Derek’s place. It was pretty much the same level of finished when he visited two weekends ago with Scott for ‘pack bonding time’ but still. The idea that this home, which was always ashen ruins in his mind, now has maple syrup in the fridge where he is eating his breakfast...weird.

He’s not going to talk to Lydia about the Derek-bed-thing. She’s been really busy at Stanford and he hasn’t seen her since spring break. Whenever he sees her, he makes a point to avoid talking about himself too much anyways. She asks how classes are. Fine. She asks if he’s dating, he tells her no. (He decided that anonymous sex doesn’t count, and she would just get mad at him for not taking care of himself.) He does go out to the Jungle a lot, but Scott has been putting up with his crap less and less--especially when it comes to his drinking. He’s not an alcoholic. He doesn’t even party as much as the average college freshman. But for someone under the constant threat of death, partying really isn’t the wisest idea. God, his Dad would kill him and Lydia would put him through the ringer if they knew about his nightlife. 

But Scott gets it. After the shit storm that was high school, he just couldn’t sometimes. Losing Heather, Erica and Boyd, Aiden, Allison, then remembering all of the people he killed as the nogitsune on top of all the other shit--Stiles has a reason to try to forget it his life one night week. 

There had been no big bad since last summer, right before college, but the damage was done. He couldn’t sleep. He was twitchy and always on a hair-trigger. He owned a gun now, and slept with it under his pillow at night. Wolfsbane bullets, to be extra safe. 

He always has his pack, though, and he will be forever grateful that Scott and him went to BHCC together. Derek’s place is only a twenty-five minute drive across town. Isaac came back around Christmas and got a job with the construction company that rebuilt the Hale house. Lydia had gotten into MIT, but went to Stanford instead to stay close. Stiles doesn’t want to imagine how bad life would have been without his pack.

He realizes that he’s been quiet for a while now, but Lydia hasn’t commented. He doesn’t really talk as much as he used to. 

“What did we do last night?” he asks before shoveling eggs into his mouth.

Lydia has more pancakes on the griddle. Stiles can hear multiple footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. She looks up and says “Good morning” in greeting. He grunts around his food.

“You guys showered off the purple pixie shit while I cleaned up and put your clothes in the wash. Then we ordered a couple of pizzas and watched stupid movies before we all went off to sleep.”

Scott plops down on the stool next to Stiles and Isaac takes the last one next to Scott. Derek grabs orange juice from the fridge.

“That was it?” asks Scott. “Well, at least we had a boring night in. It could have been so much worse. And thank god you were late Lydia. Why were you, by the way?”

“You don’t remember last night either?” asks Lydia, piling food onto plates for everyone.

“None of us do,” says Derek. Stiles looks up from his half finished plate to find the wolf staring at him. They both look away.

“Well, I guess the powder works less like amnesia and more like it makes a separate memory bank?” says Lydia. “One that you can’t access once it wears off.”

“That makes sense--” says Stiles.

“It does?” asks Scott.

“--but I think we need to talk to Deaton first. Speaking of,” Stiles turns to Scott, “what was it that they did that made us gather in the first place?”

Scott looks at Derek before they nod to one another and flash their eyes. Derek’s are red, and Scott’s are gold. 

“Oh my!” says Lydia. “Jesus Christ,” says Stiles. 

“Do we know how to fix it?” asks Stiles. “I mean, Derek, you gave Cora your alpha power once before.”

“Only she didn’t become an alpha,” Derek says. “She just became more powerful so that she could heal.”

“I don’t get it,” says Isaac. “I still feel like Scott is the alpha.”

“That’s because Scott is the alpha,” says Derek. “Being the alpha means that you are the leader of the pack. The one the pack turns to. As long as we still turn to Scott, then technically, he’s still the alpha.”

Stiles says to Isaac, “It’s the same as the relationship between you and Scott before he actually became the true alpha.”

“Exactly,” says Derek. “What they did was take away from Scott all of the extra abilities and strengths that come with being an alpha and give them to me.”

“How?” asks Lydia.

“We don’t know,” says Scott. “We weren’t sure what to do, and it’s not exactly the kind of thing you reveal over a phone call. That’s why we called the meeting. We have to go to Deaton today.”

“Why do it though?” asks Stiles. This doesn’t make any sense. First switch the abilities of Derek and Scott, then make them all forget who they are? “Lydia, when we forgot who we were, who acted like the alpha?”

“Oh,” she says. “I don’t know. That wasn’t exactly my focus. Isaac still followed Scott, I guess, but you seemed more partial to Derek.”

Scott snorts and says something in retort. Stiles shifts uncomfortably, not really paying attention anymore. 

“What did I say Lyds?” He’s pretty sure he interrupted Scott, but he doesn’t really care right now.

“Oh, well.” Her lips quirk. “You were a little bit short with me at first. At one point, you asked if we were dating.”

“Oh,” says Stiles. “That sounds like something I would do.”

“You were happy when I said we weren’t,” she says slowly, tilting her head to one side. 

What was he thinking when he said that? Is it because his feelings for Lydia are platonic and that somehow carried through? What else did he do? What else did he say? Why was he in Derek’s bed this morning? 

Stiles starts breathing a bit harder, not listening to the ongoing conversation.

He doesn’t like missing time like this. It reminds him too much of the nogitsune. He hates not having control over his own body, over his own mind. This is different, he gets that. This is still him, just forgetful. Fuck, he feels a little sick. “Excuse me,” he says before bolting outside.

He doesn’t pay attention to whomever follows him as he flies out the front door. He can feel a panic attack coming on. His heart is hammering so loud in his chest he feels like it will break. His world is all out of focus and he just has to lie down. He can’t breathe. Air keeps getting stuck in his throat.

Stiles curls up in the fetal position somewhere on the ground, choking on nothing and staring out at something but not seeing anything. That is, until Derek comes into his field of vision. The werewolf is curled up in the fetal position next to Stiles, mirroring him, and telling him to breathe. Slower. Slower. Deep breaths. 

Stiles tries. His breath catches and he starts to choke again. He doesn’t want to breathe, he just wants to not have to work so hard right now. To distance himself from everything going on. 

A warm hand is placed on his neck, the thumb rubbing behind his ear, rooting him to reality.

“Take a deep breath Stiles, come on. Deep breath.”

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Minutes, seconds. Derek never stops talking to him, calming him.

His world slowly starts to come into focus again, and there’s Derek. Lying on the grass with him in the front yard. Derek looks angry, but it’s not his normal angry. It takes Stiles a few moments to place the emotion. Worry. That’s what it is. Derek is worried about him.

Stiles is calm now, but he doesn’t want to move. Derek lets him just stay like that for a little while before standing up and offering him his hand.

“Come,” he tells Stiles, in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Let’s get you back inside before your breakfast gets too cold.”

Stiles takes the offered hand, and Derek easily brings him to his feet, squeezing once before letting go. 

____________

 

Derek isn’t quite sure what just happened. He could sense Stiles’ rising panic in the kitchen, more attuned to him than ever before. It was probably the alpha power coursing through him. The need to protect Stiles felt so strong that the second Stiles got up, Derek followed. 

He’s never actually witnessed a panic attack before. He wasn’t sure what to do. He just knew Stiles needed to breathe, so he told him to breathe. It seemed to work.

Scott, Isaac, and Lydia have all finished their breakfasts, but they haven’t left the kitchen. Their tension is palpable, but their faces are neutral and they are carrying a calm conversation. Stiles slips right back into his seat and Scott gives his shoulder a squeeze. They get it. They all do.

Derek can smell that the coffee is done so he pours himself a cup, black. He gets a second cup and adds one sugar and a dash of cream for Stiles. When he hands over the hot mug, Stiles looks up at him. “Thank you.”

Derek knows it is for more than the coffee, and a warm feeling unfurls in his chest. He tries on a small smile. “Any time.”

Breakfast goes on in a comfortable fashion before it’s time for Scott, Derek, and Lydia to visit Deaton’s. Stiles goes home to research pixies, and Isaac goes with him so that no one is alone.

____________

 

“So,” says Stiles, plopping down in his desk chair and spinning to face Isaac. “Scott.”

The werewolf actually blushes. “Whatdaya mean ‘Scott’.”

“Please,” says Stiles, reaching in his desk drawer for the flash drive with the translated bestiary on it. “I may be human, but I’m not oblivious. He was wearing your clothes. Your legs kept brushing up against each other during breakfast. Besides, I can read Scott like a book.”

“You’re wearing Derek’s clothes.” 

Stiles feels his heart pick up in his chest and, dammit, he just had to start talking didn’t he? He is officially Captain Foot-in-Mouth.

“Lydia is washing my clothes. But that wasn’t the main point. Scott: I know him. So, whatever is up with you two--” Isaac looks like he is going to interrupt and Stiles raises his hand, the universal sign for let-me-finish. “Whatever is up with you, know that if you hurt him, I will never stop talking to you, like, ever. I will call you up at 3am on a Monday to convey to you in detail the entire history of the male circumcision, and I will plant speakers all around your house that are programmed with my voice and go off at random intervals. Got it?”

Isaac’s mouth quirks a bit and he nods. “Got it.”

“Good.”

Stiles turns to his computer and starts into his pixie research.

“So,” starts Isaac. “Derek.”

“Nope.”

___________

 

Deaton, the ever-cryptic, was actually really useful this time. 

Need to perform the ritual of alpha inheritance? Swap blood then stick your claws into your beta’s neck while ‘visualizing the transfer.’ 

Of course, this has to occur during the full moon, which is nine days away. That’s not a lot, right? Not too much can happen in nine days. Heck, nothing major has happened in Beacon Hills in almost a year.

Except, this is still Beacon Hills. Shit always happens in Beacon Hills. And now that the pack has managed to knock down the first domino, more shit is bound to go down.

Derek grasps the bridge of his nose, rubbing to try and slow his frantic thoughts. He does not want to be the alpha. He likes Scott, and as much as his past self would be loathe to admit it, Scott is shaping up into a very good alpha. Derek may not always agree with the younger wolf, but they get along well enough and Scott is a good man.

On instinct, Derek uses his alpha power to reach out along the pack bonds, calming himself and checking up on the pack at the same time. It is easier to do now than when he was a new alpha.

He finds Scott easy enough. His connection is strong. It’s weird feeling the bond from this side though. Usually, he feels Scott’s bond strongly, but the other’s are dim. This time, he can feel everyone acutely. 

He picks up on Lydia easily, too. It helps that she is in the next room. Her bond is silky smooth and hard to grasp, but there. He reaches out further and quickly finds Isaac. This one is familiar, and he feels a pang in his chest for Erica and Boyd. 

He can sense Parrish and Liam as well, but there is another bond that he can’t quite place. It is something either faint and close or strong and distant. He doesn’t know who it is. Kira, perhaps? She is in Japan, so that...oh, no, he finds Kira. Malia is there too, but the bond is weak. She has been away from the pack for too long.

Derek pulls on the strange bond again, feeling it strengthen. It is warm. Familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. What’s more, it tastes sweet, like honey, but that shouldn’t be. How can he taste a bond? It has to be an alpha power he never developed before. 

Who else is pack? Stiles. Except pack bonds only work on the supernatural.

“Scott,” says Derek. They’re outside Deaton’s, waiting for him to finish talking to Lydia about getting back the memories of their amnesia time. They all understand how important it is for Stiles. “Can you feel a pack bond with Stiles?”

When he says Stiles’ name, the bond sings. It definitely belongs to Stiles. He allows his mind to rest around the bond.

“Sort of,” says Scott. “It’s not really there unless I focus really hard on it. We’ve known each other for years, and with the nemeton sacrifice, I think it’s just enough to let me feel him.” Scott stretches in his seat and looks at the ground. “It helps that I live with him. I don’t have to worry about checking on him through the bond if he’s there with me, you know?”

“Mm,” gives Derek. A weak bond? This doesn’t feel like a weak bond. The more he plays with their connection, the stronger it feels. It strikes Derek suddenly that he may have Scott’s alpha power, but these bonds are his, not Scott’s. This connection with Stiles is between Derek and Stiles. He shouldn’t connect this strongly though, right? Humans aren’t even supposed to feel the bond. 

He stops communicating with the bond immediately. What is Stiles feeling right now because of this? He wants to smack himself because bonds are a two-way street and he’s been mentally petting Stiles for minutes now.

____________

 

Stiles is freaking out. Okay, maybe that isn’t the right turn of phrase, but in spite of the calm facade he’s giving out like free samples, his heart is racing a mile a minute and his mind is screaming at him to leave while he still has the chance.

Yet he needs this. He needs to know that he has control--that his actions are his own and that he has memories of those actions. It may just be pizza in a movie, but if he ate pizza and he watched a movie, he is damn well going to remember it. 

Isaac had agreed to go first. Then Derek. Then Stiles. Then Scott. They all had to drink Lydia’s special tea once they were under, and Scott with his puppy dog eyes was the best person to convince them all that it wasn’t poison. Lydia had said that their ‘other selves’ were very easy going, but Stiles was not going to go under only to forget another night. If he was going to get his memories back, and if he had to do this shit to get them back, then by golly he was going to do it right. Scott might then need some convincing to drink the tea, but he was okay with not getting his memories back. (Technically, that was a lie and Stiles knew it, but he understood that this was more for his fucked-up self than Scott and he wasn’t about to argue.

Lydia takes the purple forgetfulness powder into to bathroom (easier to clean) and Isaac follows her. It takes only a minute for him to come back out, and his eyes go immediately to Scott.

“Scott!” he says, practically sashaying from the bathroom. “How the hell did I end up with Lydia in the bathroom?”

“You remember last night?” asks Stiles. He’s too nervous to wait for formalities. If Isaac remembers last night, then the tea will carry those memories onto his normal self in the morning.

“Like I could ever forget,” says Isaac, winking at Scott. 

“Um,” says Scott, blushing and fiddling with his clothes. This is about to get really awkward. “Well, you did forget. That’s why you were with Lydia. We’re trying to get the memories back from the time we forgot our memories.”

“Oh,” says Isaac. “Yeah, I’m just going to pretend that that made sense and go with it.”

“Here,” says Scott, handing Isaac one of four cups of tea. “Drink this.”

Isaac doesn’t even hesitate before gulping it down. “Now what.”

“Now nothing,” says Stiles. “We wait and hope it works come morning.”

“It works!” calls Lydia. She’s still waiting in the bathroom.

Stiles claps Derek on the back. “You’re up next Sourwolf.”

Derek throws a glare at Stiles. Isaac snorts.

“Damn,” says Isaac. “You know Stiles, I really thought we might have had something, but I guess some things memory doesn’t change.”

Stiles and Derek quirk identical eyebrows at Isaac. He just shrugs.

“Derek?” calls Lydia.

Derek walks into the bathroom. Stiles feels even more anxious without him around. Ohmygod, he is next. He needs something to distract himself.

“So,” says Stiles. “What, uh, doesn’t memory change?”

“You and Derek.”

“Me and Derek.” He is starting to think that this distraction thing was a bad idea.

“You know.”

“No,” says Stiles. “I really don’t.”

Isaac rolls his eyes and plops down next to Stiles on the couch. “You make a remark and he glares at you. It’s like, your thing.”

“Our thing.” Okay, that was tame. Thank you, Isaac.

“Now you’re just repeating me.”

Derek bursts out of the bathroom then. His eyes lock immediately onto Stiles’ and tension visibly leaves the werewolf’s body. Stiles feels himself calming somewhat as well.

“Here,” says Scott, offering tea. “Drink this. It will help with the memories.”

Derek ignores him. “Stiles?”

“Hey Derek,” Stiles says. He gets up from the couch, taking the tea from Scott and standing before Derek. “Our memories are all wonky. This tea is the last step towards fixing them. Then we wait. Isaac went first. Now it’s your turn.”

Derek takes the tea, his hand brushing against Stiles’ in a way that sends sparks shooting up his arm. Okay... so that just happened. Stiles’ mouth goes dry so he licks his lips. Derek’s eyes follow the motion. 

“The tea,” prompts Derek.

“Please,” says Stiles. “Drink it. Then when it is my turn, encourage me to do the same.”

Derek nods and downs the tea in one shot.

Stiles lets out a breath. “My turn.” 

He looks at the bathroom door and freezes. He doesn’t want to voluntarily give up his memories and he trusts Lydia that all they did was pizza and movies, but he has to do this. He needs to do this so badly it hurts. Doesn’t mean the journey is going to suck any less.

“I’ll come with you,” says Derek. “I’ve already been exposed to it and we were literally covered in it last time. Once more can’t hurt.”

Stiles looks at Derek--really looks at him. He sees a strong man. A brave man full of courage and fear. And he sees a friend, worrying for him. 

Derek places a hand on the small of Stiles’ back to guide him to Lydia and he melts into the touch. He can do this.

___________

 

Derek doesn’t really know what to think. He feels like he’s guiding Stiles to his death and yet he knows that, for whatever reason, this moment is important to Stiles. When his hand comes to rest on Stiles’ back, he feels their bond hum with energy and the faint taste of honey hits his tongue. Of the entire pack, the bond to Stiles is the strongest. Scott’s is strong and prominent too, but it’s different. Reliable and trustworthy while Stiles’ is that and more. Warmth. Affection. 

Stiles stiffens when Lydia opens the powder’s container. Derek knows the second half of what comes next; he woke up two minutes ago unceremoniously sitting on the lid of the toilet. 

Derek positions himself behind Stiles and nods to Lydia, who blows the purple dust gently into Stiles’ face. Derek catches him easily. He’s holding Stiles upright, arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace as the younger man leans his back against Derek’s chest. It’ll only take a moment for him to come back around. 

Derek knows the moment that Stiles regains his consciousness because his heartbeat catches. Stiles holds his own weight more and more. He’s leaning back into the embrace and rocking gently side to side. Derek can’t help but to nuzzle behind his ear and inhale his scent. It’s warm and woodsy with an underlying sweetness that reminds him of the bond. 

Mine.

Derek remembers thinking it before. Stiles is his mate. That explains everything, but it would have been nice to remember it. Stiles should have told him while one of them still remembered, but probably it was so obvious he didn’t think it needed explaining. And Derek was too busy worrying about Stiles to think to ask.

The bond starts to sing and Derek isn’t even doing anything. 

Stiles. 

As much as Derek would love to reciprocate that certain sentiment right now, he remembers how nervous Stiles was a moment ago. He needs to drink that tea first.

“Stiles,” he breathes. “Let’s go out in the living room where I can explain how we ended up standing in the downstairs bathroom, yeah?”

“Mmm.”

“There’s some tea for you to drink as well.”

“I’m good,” says Stiles. Derek feels the loss as they separate, washing themselves off in the sink before leaving the bathroom. 

“I wasn’t presenting it as an option.”

“Bossy bossy,” he teases, but drinks the tea offered by Scott anyways. “Ehk. This tastes like shit.”

“I heard that!” says Lydia. 

“Where did she come from?” says Stiles.

“Uh, the bathroom?” says Isaac. 

“Oh,” says Stiles. “I must have missed her.”

Isaac gives him an incredulous look.

“What! I had my eyes closed mostly. I just knew Derek was there, really.”

“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” says Derek. “You never know when a potential threat is near.”

“Too true,” says Scott. “Make sure I drink my tea too, okay Stiles?”

“Ah, yup.”

Scott looks like he wants to say something, but he just shakes his head and walks away. He’s gone all of a minute before he’s back and drinking his tea. It only takes Lydia another second to clean whatever out of the bathroom and then they’re all sitting awkwardly in the living. Scott and Isaac have taken the couch. Stiles and Derek resumed the position they had been in in the bathroom: standing and holding each other while rocking gently side to side. 

Lydia takes out her phone. At first, Stiles thinks she might be texting, but she’s just kind of holding it, pointing it at him and Derek.

“Are you taking a video?” he asks her.

She nods. “Just in case, you know, my potions skills aren’t as advanced as I’d like. You’ll thank me later Stiles.”

“So you’re recording me doing absolutely nothing for my benefit.”

A smile quirks at her lips. “Something like that.”

“Or,” says Stiles, “are you expecting me to do something wild and crazy and you’re taking advantage of my disadvantaged state in an attempt to collect blackmail material.”

A full smile lights her face. “You always do figure it out Stiles.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint you, but I plan on being utterly boring this entire night.”

“Oh, you are many things Stiles,” says Lydia. “Boring is not one of them.” There’s a sparkle in her eye that makes Stiles wary, but he is the master of his own body. He’ll be sure not to embarrass himself.

“Be prepared to be disappointed Lydia.” 

Stiles stomach chooses that moment to grumble. Derek nuzzles by his ear. “Hungry?”

“Mmm,” says Stiles as he leans his head back against Derek’s shoulder. “You gonna feed me big guy?”

____________

 

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” asks Derek.

“Nah. ‘m gud,” says Stiles around a mouthful of curly fries.

“He’s a cheap date,” says Lydia from the driver’s seat as she turns on the radio. It’s late and it’s raining, but it’s a short ride back to the house from the fast food restaurant. 

Stiles and Derek are taking up Lydia’s backseat, both with their backs against their respective windows and their legs strewn together in a comfortable jumble. The passenger seat is occupied by a pile of fast food, minus the curly fries currently stuffed in Stiles’ face of course.

“You really should eat something else,” says Derek. “We bought that extra burger.”

“Are you encouraging me to consume more fast food?”

“Only the best for my mate.”

Stiles cocks a smile. “Like an ‘oy how ya doin’ mate’ kind of mate,” he teases--complete with accents and hand gestures--, “or like a ‘you are my other half and my life would be empty without you’ kind of mate.” 

“I’m not Australian,” says Derek, quirking an eyebrow and purposefully stroking their bond. He derives immense pleasure from the shiver that runs through Stiles’ body. It’s nice to tease Stiles like this. They are so comfortable with one another and Derek can’t get enough of it. He’s happy. Part of him wishes that he knew his and Stiles’ story. How they got together. The little things they like to do for fun. Lydia doesn’t seem to know about them though. Or, at least she didn’t before. That’s the one thing that strikes him as weird.

The bag of curly fries is closed by Stiles and tossed haphazardly on the passenger seat.

“Bet you're good down under though,” says Stiles huskily, quirking an eyebrow. It’s Derek’s turn to shiver as his mind is enveloped by warmth surging from the bond in waves. 

“You would know,” says Derek. Stiles’ pupils dilate and the scent of arousal fills the car. The atmosphere in the car has shifted to something dark and heady.

“I’ve been feeling a bit forgetful lately.” Stiles pulls himself forward, maneuvering himself so that he is straddling Derek with one leg wedged against the seat and the other resting on the floor. “I think you need to refresh my memory.”

Derek rests his hands on Stiles’ thighs and rubs circles on the denim. Stiles’ face is an inch from his. He can feel his breath mingle with his own. He smells like curly fries. Their gazes are locked and Derek can hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

Stiles grinds down leisurely on Derek, making his cock harden. He grabs onto Stiles’ hips, pressing them more tightly together, and rocks up into him. Anticipation is building in his chest as he continues to stare at Stiles. Derek closes his eyes and leans in, his lips a hair’s breadth from Stiles’. 

Derek teases his lips against his. It’s a whisper of a touch, but it sends electricity shooting through his body and causes his heart to clench. Derek is fully aware of his entire body but barely registers that the car has stopped and the engine is off.

“Alright boys. You grab the food and I’ll get the--”

There’s a pause. Right, Lydia. She must be currently witnessing the Derek-and-Stiles show. 

Reluctantly, Derek pulls back and releases Stiles so that they can get out of the car. Fortunately, the rain has stopped.

“What in the world do you two think you are doing,” says Lydia. The tone in her voice suggests that she’s pissed. He’s being scolded.

“Sorry about that,” says Derek. “I think we both kind of forgot that we were in your car.”

“And...” she prompts.

Stiles is out of the backseat and on the front passenger side gathering bags of food. “Come on, Lydia. You have to be used to this by now.”

“Uh, no. I really don’t.”

“Oh, right,” says Stiles. “I forgot you’re Miss ‘You can’t get a date to save your life’. Well, newsflash Lydia, but I don’t need memories to know that being with Derek is as natural as breathing. I’m starting to get the feeling that maybe I don’t tell you everything.”

She looks hurt. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that feeling too.” Then she steels herself, shoulders back and full of confidence and authority. “But you two shouldn’t be doing things like that regardless. How would you feel if you woke up having done something you regret? I don’t want you to be pissed at yourselves when this shit wears off. Or pissed at me for not stopping you. So this is my warning: Keep away from each other until the morning. I think you can manage that, yes? Hands off for one night.”

She has a point. She really does, and later Derek will realize that. Right now though? All he hears is an order to stay away from Stiles and Derek is livid. Who does she think she is to tell him that he can’t touch his mate. His own fucking mate! Stiles is his and he’ll be around him if he goddamn pleases.

Stiles is in front of him in a heartbeat. “Hey big guy,” he says softly yet a little shakily. “Let’s calm down, hmm? Take a breath with me.” Derek inhales. “That’s it, good. Now out.” Derek exhales. “You’re good, you’re alright. She’s just speaking with our best interests at heart yeah? So let’s take a step back, bring back the eyebrows, and talk about it like people do, yeah?”

What is Stiles talking about?

It takes Derek a while to realize that he’s shifted. Shit. How did he not notice? Stiles is still babbling and he uses that to anchor himself, bring himself down. He’s standing on his own front lawn, with Stiles, and it’s time to eat.

“Sorry Lydia.” Derek winces at his own voice. He’s been apologizing a lot to the banshee. “I overreacted.”

She takes a deep breath, but she seems fine. “Well, I’m the one who made you overreact, so I’m sorry too. You get what I’m saying though, right?”

“Yes. And you are right. We don’t know what we don’t know, and the last thing I want to do is anything that may be regretted in the morning.” He means to say anything Stiles would regret because he really doesn’t think he could regret anything about simply being with Stiles, but he doesn’t say that.

Stiles hands all the food to Lydia. “We’ll be in in a minute.” She doesn’t seem to like the dismissal, her gaze passing back and forth between the two of them, but she takes it anyways, bringing the food with her.

Stiles stands before him. A hand reaches out and trails down his arm to link their fingers together.

“What are you thinking?” asks Stiles.

“I’m thinking that I don’t want to do anything tonight that will hurt you tomorrow.”

Stiles nods. “I’m thinking the same thing. In reverse, in case that wasn’t clear. I get that I’m a bit impulsive, but I’m not sure if I’d have the same impulses if I was me, you know? Or if you would react the same to them. I mean, Lydia doesn’t even think that we’re together. Why wouldn’t we tell her that. She’s pack, you know?”

“But she told us last night that she had been away at college.”

“Yeah, Stanford.”

“And school just finished.”

“So what, we were waiting to tell her in person?”

“Maybe.”

“I feel like this shouldn’t be complicated. It’s just one night, right?” asks Stiles.

“Right.”

“And tomorrow, this will all go back to normal.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah.”

“How about we finish eating and just call it an early night.”

Stiles squeezes their hands where they’re still joined and tugs Derek towards the house. “Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles falls asleep on Derek’s shoulder not five minutes into The Notebook. Lydia had insisted that it was a must-see, but Derek was pretty sure this was just an excuse to get them all to watch something they wouldn’t have otherwise. 

The movie apparently isn’t Stiles’ cup of tea, though, because he is snoozing before the beginning credits finish. Derek considers carrying him upstairs to settle in early like they agreed, but Isaac and Scott had already snuck off somewhere and he didn’t want to leave Lydia alone. Emotionally, she smelled off, but there were so many different notes swirling around in her scent that he couldn’t place any of them.

Noah is doing something really stupid on the Ferris wheel when Lydia mutes the movie. The only sound in the room now is the slight snoring emanating from Stiles.

“I need to ask you something,” she says, breaking the silence.

“I have a few questions myself.”

She sighs and turns to face him properly. “What is your understanding of your and Stiles’ relationship?”

“We are mated.” He says it with no hesitation because he can feel the bond humming constantly now and stronger than it was even yesterday. Only Lydia is shaking her head and a sinking feeling that was barely ever there before is suddenly present and heavy in his gut. “What do you know Lydia?”

She licks her lips, trying to find the words. “Stiles and I don’t really talk so much now as we used to. I guess this whole pack has kind of splintered a bit this past year. With no Big Bad to hold us together we’ve kind of...drifted. But something as big as you and Stiles being together at all, let alone being mated, I would have known about it. We all would have known about it but none of us do, so...”

Derek is silent through all of his, waiting for the moment when it will make sense. “So...” he prompts.

“Stiles is normally the research guy, but I’m not known for a tendency to remain uninformed and I spent weeks of my life translating a bestiary full of tidbits about werewolves. There was some information in there about mating. While it’s not unheard of, it rarely ever happens with betas.”

“What about alphas?”

“Finding a mate to help lead the pack is one of the primary drives of almost every alpha.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Derek, the pixies switched your beta werewolf powers with our true alpha’s.” Pause. “You’re not technically an alpha, so this shouldn’t be happening to you and Stiles.”

“But it did happen.”

“Yes.”

“It’s just more recent than we originally thought.”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Don’t,” says Derek suddenly. Nothing good ever comes after a ‘but’. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“Derek,” says Lydia, leaning more forward in her seat. “Please try to understand that I am only trying to help you. I thought it was just something harmless and cute earlier, but this...” She waves her hand, gesturing to the sleeping Stiles curled innocently against Derek. “I don’t think either of you would be comfortable with this if you were you.”

Derek tightens the grip he has on Stiles and the young man wiggles himself closer.

“We’re wolves,” says Derek tersely. “We cuddle.”

“Sure,” she snipes back, “but you certainly don’t dry hump in the back of my car.”

Derek lets out a low growl and Lydia looks like she’s going to make a retort, but a soft whine comes out of Stiles. Derek cuts off the noise and Lydia sighs, shoulders slumping. 

“Sorry. I don’t usually act like this.”

“You care about him.”

“I care about both of you.”

“But you care about him more.” It isn’t a question and Lydia doesn’t give him an answer.

“Anyway,” she continues, “from what I’ve read, mating has to do a lot with whomever you’re closest to emotionally. Or...how do I say this...I guess it surrounds around the person you trust the most? It doesn’t have to be a sexual thing--there are plenty of platonic mates--but it doesn’t make a lot of sense that you’re with Stiles. You live with Isaac and Scott is your alpha--”

“Scott?” says Derek incredulously.   
“Yes, Scott. He’s our alpha. He’s also Stiles’ best friend and roommate. Their relationship is platonic--at least, to the extent of my knowledge--but now you have Scott’s alpha abilities and suddenly you and Stiles think you’re mates...” She lets the unsaid words hang in the air.

“You think that Stiles is Scott’s mate.”

Instead of responding, she unmutes the movie. He’s missed quite a bit of the plot since they left the video playing during their conversation, but he isn’t watching anymore, lost in his own thoughts.

____________

Stiles wakes up.

"Hey sleepyhead," says Derek. He's shaking Stiles' shoulder slightly with the arm that's wrapped around him. "Movie's over. Time for bed."

"I remember you," says Stiles, sleep still clouding his thoughts. He rubs at his eyes. "We were swimming in a pool."

Lydia moves forward in her seat. 

"What do you remember?" asks Lydia.

"Bits and pieces."

Lydia frowns. "This was all supposed to happen while you were sleeping."

"I was sleeping," says Stiles, rolling his eyes.

Her frown deepens. "Go back to bed Stiles."

"Okay." He moves so that Derek can get up. Stiles is then pulled standing. "Bedtime sounds good."

Stiles looks around the house. Images of ashen ruins flash before his eyes. “Um...” He suddenly remembers seeing Derek take a blowtorch to Scott’s arm while Stiles holds him still. It makes him a bit queasy. "I think I need some air.”

"I'll take him," offers Lydia. Derek doesn't seem to like it and Stiles would prefer being with Derek, but for some reason or another, Stiles gets passed on to Lydia.

She takes him to the front porch where it's dark outside. It’s overcast and he can’t see the stars, but there’s a light grey patch where the moon must be hiding. Memories flit around in his brain, giving him a headache.

"Self-igniting molotov cocktail," says Stiles. "You know how to make them, right?"

A weird expression ghosts over her face. "Stiles..." she starts, unsure. It's weird to see Lydia like this. Most of the memories he currently has are of a strong, powerful Lydia. Wait, why is she here? They weren’t exactly frie-- oh, no, he remembers their friendship now. Wow, he never imagined his ten-year plan ending like this.

"Stiles, I don't want you to think too much. Your memories are slowly bleeding into one another. I don't... I want you to wake up having remembered all of it at once instead of reliving certain pieces over again."

Stiles lets that sink in for a moment. She seems nervous about his memories, which must mean that something bad has happened to him, something she doesn't want him to remember. But, he runs with werewolves now, so bad shit is always happening to him.

"I know my mom died," he says after a while. He looks out at the lawn. "And I know that Allison and I set fire to Peter with one of your cocktails before Derek ripped his throat out."

Lydia is very still beside him.

His brain hurts a bit. He kind of wants to go back inside to Derek. Scott and Isaac are already upstairs, he could--

Scott and Isaac. But, what? Allison. Scott and Allison. No, Isaac and Allison. Wait. 

"Where's Allison?"

He looks over to Lydia. He doesn't need to be a werewolf to know she probably reeks of sadness right now, given the way she’s holding herself.

"Lydia, where the FUCK is Allison?"

Stiles is yelling. Why is he yelling? He is so mad right now.

“Calm down Stiles.” She says it like a command, but he doesn’t listen.

"None of this makes any sense. Why isn’t Allison here. Wait France, right? Is she still in France. Isaac went to France too. Isaac went to France after--.”

Stiles’ heart stops. Everything stops. Derek bursts out of the front door in that moment, hands roving all over Stiles’ face and body before cupping him firmly on each side of his head. “Stiles, what’s wrong?” he says. “Stiles, look at me. Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Lydia doesn’t say anything. She just comes to the side of him and places a solemn hand on his shoulder.

“I...,” starts Stiles. “I... I... I... I’m I’m I’m I’m so... I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks. He’s somewhere between yelling and crying and whispering all at once. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Stiles’ legs give out and Derek holds his arms, slowing his decent as he sinks to a crouch on the porch, gripping Derek by the waist like a lifeline. He never stops repeating the phrase. 

___________

 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Derek is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. All of his instincts are screaming at him to hold Stiles close, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. 

Lydia crouches next to Stiles, placing a tentative hand back on his shoulder.

“Stiles,” she says. Her voice sounds like it’s close to tears. “It’s okay.”

Stiles snaps, lashing out at her with his arm to break the contact. “It’s not fucking okay Lydia. It’s never going to fucking be okay. Don’t you get that? I killed them. I killed them all. I fucking killed them all Lydia. I remember it. I remember fucking LIKING it Lydia. It felt good. I felt powerful and so fucking good and I fucking killed them Lydia. I killed them all. I’m responsible for all of it because I was weak. I was weak and I let him in Lydia. I fucking let him in and now everyone is dead. Everyone is dead because of me. Aiden is dead. Fucking Allison is dead. I killed your boyfriend and your best friend. People are dead whose names I don’t even know. I didn’t even know some of them Lydia. There are all these faces in my head with no names but they had names Lydia. They had names and they had families and I fucking took that from them. I took their lives from them and I fucking enjoyed it. So don’t you ever, EVER tell me it’s going to be okay because it’s not fucking okay. It is never going to be okay.”

Lydia looks small and her voice is just as tiny, barely a whisper. “That wasn’t you. Nobody blames you.”

“I BLAME ME!” he yells. 

Derek doesn’t know what to do, so he stops thinking about it. He wraps his body over Stiles, cradling his head against his chest. It takes a while, but very slowly, tension and anger seep out of Stiles, leaving him deflated.

“Derek,” he says after a few minutes. Lydia had left at some point, but neither of them took notice. “Take me home.”

“Okay.”

Derek doesn’t exactly know where ‘home’ is for Stiles, but he is tossed a set of keys and follows him to the blue jeep.

__________

 

Stiles directs while Derek drives. It doesn’t take long them to reach home. The cruiser isn’t in the driveway, so his Dad must be at work. 

Stiles gets out of his jeep as Derek does the same. “Keys,” he says and Derek tosses them over. He opens the front door and heads upstairs to his bedroom, leaving both doors open on his way. 

He quickly changes into a lose t-shirt and a pair of checkered pajama bottoms while he hears the front door close and heavy footsteps slowly ascend the stairs. He goes to use the bathroom and when he gets back, Derek is standing awkwardly by his desk.

“Did you want me to go?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “No.”

He walks up to Derek, unsure of how to ask this. “Ah, look, about last night...” A frown crosses Derek’s face and he puts his head down. “We’re, ah, we’re not in a relationship. At least, I don’t think we are. And I don’t want to confuse you, but that was the best night’s sleep I have had in a very very long time. I think. But, the point is, what just happened? That sucked, like, a lot. And if I’m going to go through something like that again, I don’t want to be alone, so, will you, um, would you mind staying with me? For tonight that is. I just really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Derek looks up at Stiles with a mixture of confusion and something else, something soft and hopeful. He’s showing more emotions in that one face than Derek usually expresses in an entire day and it really makes Stiles want to hug him. There’s a tug in his chest. It’s warm and comforting but exciting at the same time like a bundle of energy pooling in his gut. He remembers feeling this the past couple of days with Derek. Oh god, they totally made-out and if Lydia hadn’t stopped them? Twice too. If Lydia hadn’t stopped them twice? Stiles thinks he could have handled that. He wouldn’t have appreciated doing it while an amnesiac but he could have handled it. Derek, on the other hand...  
 After Kate and Jennifer, well, Derek has a thing for psychotic bitches taking advantage of him. Not that Stiles is a psychotic bitch, but this whole thing feels a bit reminiscent of being roofied and he can’t do that to Derek.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” asks Stiles, being pulled from his thoughts.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Right,” says Stiles, cracking a small smile. He waves at Derek’s general everything. “Get yourself comfortable. I’m just gonna.” He points to the bed before turning off the light and sliding into it. 

Stiles lays there for a very long thirty seconds before he hears the rustle of clothes. Soon after that, Derek slides under the covers next to him, heat radiating off his body despite the lack of actual physical contact. Stiles stares at the ceiling while Derek slowly settles deeper and deeper into relaxation, inching closer with every shift of his body. When an arm is slung across Stiles’ chest, he allows it and distracts himself by tracing wispy patterns on the warm skin with his fingers. 

Eventually, Derek’s breathing evens out and Stiles grants himself permission to enjoy this moment. He feels warm and secure, safe in a way he hasn’t for a very long time. He feels a tear slide down his cheek but he doesn’t know why he’s crying. He’s not sad, he just tired. He’s so very tired from trying to hold himself together all the time. In this moment, Derek’s presence is surrounding him and he let’s himself unfurl. He stops compartmentalizing and lets himself feel everything all at once: happy, sad, lonely, loved, guilty, relieved, confused, aware. His mind drifts through the swirl of emotions and Derek draws Stiles closer, grounding him, as he finally falls into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me forever to write this. It's been bugging me leaving this unfinished, so while it's not perfect, there is finally an ending.

Stiles is jerked awake by a nightmare that isn’t his own. He sees fire, hears screams, and automatically knows what he was dreaming of. 

“Derek,” he shakes his shoulder forcefully. The werewolf is hot. Very hot. Beads of sweat coat his body and he’s whimpering, high and pained. “Derek, wake the fuck up!”

Derek jerks awake, claws out, eyes red. On second thought, violently shaking and yelling at a werewolf in the midst of a nightmare is probably not the wisest move on Stiles’ part. Derek jumps up, prepared to fight, but instead of treating Stiles like the enemy, Derek takes a defensive stance that leaves Stiles at his back. 

Stiles’ next word is barely a whisper. “Derek?” No response. “Derek, I woke you up because you were having a nightmare. There’s no one else here.”

Stiles can see the claws retract in the faint streetlamp light that leaks through his window, but Derek doesn’t move to turn around. Tentatively, and very slowly, Stiles kneels on the bed and places his hand on Derek’s shoulder. 

“Come back to bed Derek.”

All of the tension floods out of Derek’s stance to the point that Stiles has to tighten his grip on Derek’s shoulder so the werewolf doesn’t sway forward. They stay like that for some time before Stiles hears it. It’s quiet, but it’s there. The soft sound of someone crying. 

Stiles pulls Derek back so that he falls to sit on the side of the bed. Stiles crawls up behind him and wraps him in his arms. Almost anything Stiles can say now could be taken as pity or false platitudes, so Stiles tells him the only thing he knows to be true in that moment. “I’m here.” Not ‘It’ll be okay’ or ‘No one is going to hurt you’ because he can’t make those promises. 

“I’m here,” he says again. And then he just holds him. 

Slowly, they sink backwards onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers, and stay embraced. Sleep claims them once again, and when Stiles wakes up next, sunlight is streaming in through the window. 

Stiles is in no rush to leave the bed, so he holds Derek as long as his bladder will allow him before he is reluctantly retracting his arms. 

When he returns from the bathroom, Derek is sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning.”

Derek looks up at him with a small smile and Stiles’ heart nearly breaks.

“Good morning Stiles.”

He shuffles his feet. “Uh, bathroom is down the hall, on the left.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as Stiles is left alone, he changes into his own clothes and folds up Derek’s. He figures he should probably wash them, but instead of putting them in the hamper, he stashes them in his drawer. 

Stiles starts to feel stupid just standing in his room, so he makes himself busy by starting on breakfast. When he finds real bacon in the fridge, he writes his Dad an angry post-it note and decides to cook all of it. Derek is a werewolf; they can plow through a pound of bacon easily. He makes eggs too. Scrambled for him, sunny-side up for Derek. 

That makes him pause. He knows that he knows how Derek takes his eggs because he’s made breakfast for the pack plenty of times, but it suddenly feels so...domestic. And nice. It feels nice.

He also just spent the whole night sleeping with someone without there being any sex. It’s been a long while since he’s done that.

“Oh my god.” He totally made out with Derek. In his bedroom. Where he keeps his dildo. “Oh my god!”

Footsteps pound down the stairs and Derek looks around wildly. “What is it.”

Stiles turns a little too quickly and a bit of egg goes flying off his spatula. “Uh, nothing!” he squeaks. “Nope, absolutely nothing. Oh! Except breakfast. I’m making breakfast.”

Stiles turns back around so that Derek can’t see him blushing and finishes plating his scrambled eggs before starting on Derek’s. 

Stiles is staring so intently at the world’s slowest cooking eggs that he doesn’t notice Derek until his arms are wrapping around him from behind.

“Is this okay?” Derek whispers against his ear. 

Stiles nods his head like a jackhammer before stuttering out, “Yeah, uh, yeah. This is, yup, definitely okay. I am definitely okay with this. It is def-in-ite.”

Stiles feels a shaking behind him, and he realizes that Derek is laughing at him.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me or I will overcook your eggs! It won’t be so funny when you get a cooked yolk.”

“Alright, I won’t yolk about.”

Stiles is flabbergasted. He quickly plates Derek’s eggs so he doesn’t actually overcook them and then turns to face Derek, who is very, very close.

“Derek Hale! Did you just make a pun?”

He pouts. “You didn’t like it? I thought it was egg-cellent.”

Stiles can’t help it. The entire situation is so ridiculous that he bursts out laughing. “Oh my god. You are actually twelve.”

Derek is honest to god smiling, and Stiles wants to see that smile every day. He surges forward to kiss him, and Derek lets him. The kiss is firm but reserved. It’s nothing like their first kiss. Or their second. This is raw emotion, confusion, questions and answers and unanswered questions. 

It’s Derek who pulls back. “We should talk about this.”

“We should,” Stiles agrees. “But first, breakfast.”

 

___________

 

Stiles has one hand on his full belly, the other holding Derek’s across the table.

Stiles knows that Derek won’t start. Bad breakfast puns aside, Derek is a quiet person. And that’s okay, because Stiles likes to talk. Still, he’s glad that Derek has been opening up to him lately, because Stiles has been closing himself off from everyone at the same time.

“So,” says Stiles, “mates.”

“It’s an alpha thing,” says Derek. “When the pixies gave me Scott’s alpha powers, my wolf felt the need to...find someone, someone who would help me lead the pack.”

Stiles let’s that sink in for a moment. “So, if the pixies hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t, ah, feel about me the way you do. That is, I mean, presuming... I don’t want to presume what you’re feeling or not feeling, it just seems that--”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, Derek?”

“I do have feelings for you.”

“Oh, uh, good,” says Stiles. He can feel his palms getting kind of sweaty, and he really hopes that Derek doesn’t mind. “So, what are they? These, ah, feelings.”

Derek actually looks sheepish and starts to blush, but he doesn’t let go of Stiles hand. Instead, his thumb brushes back and forth along Stiles’ skin.

“I like you, Stiles. I want to be around you. I feel,” Derek hesitates to look for the right word, “...protective of you, but at the same time, I feel safe with you. Safe to show you my heart, because I know that you will protect it.” 

Stiles eyes widen at that. That’s a lot. 

“Um, I’m not sure how much of this is my wolf and how much of this is me, but at the same time, I am my wolf and my wolf is me, so I don’t think that really matters. But that’s it. That’s how I feel right now, in this moment. I’m also scared, because I’ve been hurt before. I don’t think you will hurt me. I trust you. But fear doesn’t always listen to logic so...” He smiles then, and laughs a bit. “And I thought you rambled.”

Stiles shares a small laugh with him. “I think that is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

Derek is looking at him nervously now, a question in his eyes.

“My turn now. Right. Um, I don’t know about the alpha mate werewolf side of this, but I know what it feels like to feel things that aren’t really you feeling them, you know? And I know that this isn’t that. So, there’s that. Okay, for me, it feels, easy. Calm. Being with you that is. And I want that. I need that. After all the crazy shit we’ve been through, I think I started losing myself along the way. But when you’re here, I’m here too. So yeah. I like you, like, a lot. Plus, you are super hot, which is awesome. I want to try being with you. A you and me thing, if you want that. Because I want that.”

“Yeah, I want that.”

“So, boyfriends?” asks Stiles.

“Boyfriends.”

Stiles is smiling now. “Good. That’s, that’s good.”

Derek is smiling back at him.

 

___________

 

“You’re dating?”

“Yes, Lydia. Derek and I are dating. Well, we haven’t been on an actual date yet, but yeah, that’s a thing that we’re gonna do.”

“Hmm.”

They were sitting across from each other at Derek’s breakfast bar. The ‘wolves had gone into the woods to fix their pixie problem. Lydia had done her research, and apparently all that had to do was apologize for being douchenozzles and ruining their stone circle.

“Hey, by the way, what was that whole ‘He can’t get a date to save his life’ thing. That was years ago and you knew that Lyds.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You yelled at me Stiles. I wasn’t exactly happy with you in that moment.”

“Hmmph.” 

“Oh, come on Stiles. You’re not actually mad at me for that.”

He smiles. “You’re right. I’m actually mad at you for letting me sleep through the Notebook. I really like that movie and it would have been cool to experience it for the first time all over again.”

She squints at him. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

Stiles scoffs. “I’m always serious.”

A ruckus in the foyer announced the return of the ‘wolves, and Stiles tried not to look too eager to see Derek again.

They were all smiles, so Stiles assumed that everything went well.

“It go alright?” he asked. 

“Better!” said Scott, flashing his eyes. His red eyes. “They switched us back!”

“That’s great Scotty.” Stiles turned to Derek then, who was staring very intently at his boots. “How are you feeling Derek?”

Derek looked up at Stiles slowly. Stiles could see him rapidly retreating into himself, and that would not do. 

“Hey,” huffed Stiles, placing his hand under Derek’s jaw. “Don’t do that. I’m doing super good here, and I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, yeah? You good?”

Derek’s face is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes. “I’m good.”

“Good.” 

Stiles surges forward to kiss him with every emotion he has, trying to convey his whole soul, and not caring for their audience. It takes a few seconds for Derek to respond, but once he reciprocates, Stiles is lost in it. His hands wrap around Derek and go immediately for his tight ass, pulling their groins against each other, and rutting against him.

He’s pretty sure the others have left the house, because no one stops them when they make their way towards the couch. Scott is going to be so mad at him because the living room will probably smell like sex for days, but in that moment, he doesn’t really care.


End file.
